A True LOVE Story
by Kneazle
Summary: AU. Hermione doesn't think anyone can love her. She's just your typical Mary Jane kind of girl, but sooner or later, she realizes that there might be someone who does love her for who she is and not what she wants to be. GHr
1. Love I

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

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**A True Love Story**

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**Chapter One:**

The playground was filled with little kids, all who ran around the playground, laughing and enjoying themselves. One little girl was quite content, sitting on the grass and listening to a daycare personnel read a story aloud to a group of children. 

            "…And the Prince leaned over Sleeping Beauty's bed, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Her eyes snapped open, and it was then that Sleeping Beauty knew she had found her true love, because only a true loves' kiss would awaken her from her slumber. Soon after, they were married and lived"—the Daycare personnel smiled as all the little kids chimed in, "_happily ever after!_"

            The children clapped and cheered, all getting up to continue playing but one. 

            _OOOH! OOH!_ That would be me. Yes, little Hermione Granger. The little girl there with bushy brown hair, chocolate eyes and oversized teeth is me at four years old. Ahem, yes, sorry about that interruption. 

            "Mimi," I remember saying to the lady who was reading the story.

            "Oh, Hermione!" she said, surprised, "I didn't know you were still here."

            "Um, well…" I trailed off, ashamed. I then glanced back at her. 

            "What is it?" she asked in a kind voice and that's when I asked her, as she sat on the grass in front of me.

            "Will I ever find my Prince? And live happily ever after like Sleeping Beauty?" I just had enough child naïveté to ask. Yes, I know – can I _get_ anymore childish? Oh, very.

            "Oh, Hun! Of course you will!" simpered Mimi, smiling at me before enveloping me into a bone-crushing hug. 

            "Mimi, was that story _true_?" I continued to ask with my eyes filled with wonder. Gee, wasn't I a barrel of questions?

            Mimi smiled kindly at little me again, before leaning forward. "You know what, Hermione? I think it is."

            Okay, um – hello? Reality speaking. As if _that_ would ever happen. No Princess can say her true love is a guy who kisses her and wakes her up, and then be your true love like Sleeping Beauty. No way, completely untrue. It's a figment of your imagination. 

            Especially mine. 

_Somebody once told me the world is gonna rule me_

_I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed_

_She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her_

_Thumb in the shape of an "L" on her forehead_

_Well the years start coming and they don't stop coming_

_Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running_

_Didn't make sense not to live for fun_

_Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb_

_So much to do so much to see_

_So what's wrong with taking the back streets_

_You'll never know if you don't go_

_You'll never shine if you don't glow_

            Okay, okay. Maybe I'm selling myself short (excuse the pun), but really, I'm not "all that" – no, hardly at all.

            I haven't changed since I was four, except of course; I've gotten taller to reach a whoopin' 5'4", filled out to get the curvy shoulders and hips, and oh yeah, so I've got 34B boobs. Not like _that'll_ ever make a guy's head spin. 

            Nope. See, the "goodbye, hope never to look at you again" happens when they look past my tacky clothes and Wonder Bra push-ups. Apparently, I've got a head that makes Medusa look hot, and then there is my usual bookworm attitude and bossy voice that makes the geekiest guy to an about-face.

            Gee, isn't that nice on your ego?

            Of course, this whole pessimistic thing could also be because it's rainy outside and anything gray in the world makes me hate everything and everyone. It's like a supplementary PMS thing, and living in London doesn't really help; there are my two best friends, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter though. 

            Speaking of the two devils…

            The door to my flower shop sprang open, the chime echoing throughout the quiet store. Soft, piano music came from the radio behind the counter, where I was. Looking up, my two friends flashed me smiles. 

            Ah yes, Ron and Harry. I've known Ron since daycare and Harry since we were first years at Carver Prep School. God, yes – I was a preppy and in some ways, I still am. Now, let me introduce each boy at a time.

            Ron, now at twenty-five, is tall. Actually, tall doesn't even cut close. He reached his final height of 6'3" when we were all seventeen, and had been known for other… ahem, large items. 

            He, of course, has shocking red-carrot hair like all the Weasleys. He also has crystal clear blue eyes, like all the Weasleys. He also has some weird addiction to practical jokes, like all the Weasleys. He's also the youngest male in the Weasley household out of five older brothers, and one younger sister. More about Ginny later. 

            Harry Potter, on the other hand, had always been the hot, mysterious one in our group at Carver, and also had the most girls hanging off his arms at any given moment. He was tall, yet, not as tall as Ron, reaching only 6'0". Of course, that's still a good six inches taller than I am, so I feel so _short_ around my two best friends. Also, Harry's parents are dead. They died in a car crash when he was just a baby, and because his Godfather was on the run for (wrongly) murdering his parents, Harry spent his childhood away from Carver with his Aunt and Uncle Dursley. 

            Of course, the ebony haired, emerald-eyed Carver cutie could've cared less, since Carver held boarders. Carver had been his home, and I know that he still missed it sometimes. We had a lot of fun there. 

            "Hey, Mione," said Ron, stepping up to the counter and flashing the single shopper a bright smile which made her swoon. 

            "Hullo Ron," I smiled, giving his practices a knowing look before ringing up the girls' purchase of roses. After placing the flowers in a complementary vase, she flushed scarlet looking at Ron again before hurrying out of the store. 

            "You're bad for Hermione's business, Ron," laughed Harry, his eyes twinkling behind his wire frame glasses. 

            "I know," said Ron confidently, grinning at me. I shook my head, before something reminded me of Ron. 

            "Ah, Ron!" I exclaimed. 

            "What, Mione?"

            "Remember that flower bouquet you _really, really_ wanted? The one with daisies and orange Lilies?" I asked, slyly sliding a vase across the top of the counter. Leaning forward, I watched as Ron's eyes widened. He looked down at the vase, then at me, and gapped openly. 

            "You mean… you… actually… fount it?" he stuttered. 

            "Yep," I smiled, standing straight again. "Want that gift-wrapped or left like that?"

            At this, Ron's head snapped up. "Oh, Mione, you taking this out of your own pay? No, I can't do that. I'll come by tomorrow and pick it up from you, since Harry and I only stopped by to see how you were doing and to remind you of Molly's dinner tonight."

            I groaned. "The dinner!"

            Harry winked. "I guess that means you forgot all about it, huh, Herm?"

            I nodded, slumping forward to run my fingers through my frizzy curls. "Ah, I barely have time to get ready… I guess the shop is closing early today… blah! Well, in that case…" I turned to look at my two amused friends. "Out! OUT! I must get ready!"

            Harry and Ron said their goodbyes, before leaving me alone in my shop. I turned the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED", before making sure I had all the money from the sales, then locked the register. I then turned off all the lights, and locked the front door. I then made my way down the street, looking at all the other Bohemian small shops that were around mine. Books, paintings, music stores, they all greeted me from their open doors. Bars placed strategically had saucy jazz music coming out from them, and even some tourists were stopping for drinks on the open patios. 

            I realized that I should actually start moving if I wanted to be ready by the time Molly's dinner would start, so I hopped the first bus to the nearest Underground station, before flashing my pass. I then found an empty seat on the Underground, and let all my pessimistic worries fly back at me. 

            I knew that Molly had called this dinner because Ginny Weasley, the only girl and youngest member of the family, was getting married. She and her fiancé were going to announce their marriage proposal, and Ginny had only told Molly Weasley and I. I wanted to look good for that, so as soon as I left the Underground and came upon my house (shared with my parents), I hurried to my room and then bathroom. 

            Two hours later, and fifthteen minutes to the start of the dinner party, I had finished. Looking in the full-length mirror, I checked myself over. 

            Okay, so the hair was still frizzy. Okay, so the outfit I was wearing was a bit outdated, but still nice. Jean skirt, and creamy blouse. Not original, but simple enough. 

            I arrived at the Weasley's, (my neighbors, hahaha) right on time. Ron opened the door, hugged me and ushered me inside. 

            "See? I knew you would make it on time," he teased. I smiled and handed him my autumn jacket. He placed it on the coat hook, and hurried me to the living room, where Ginny was sitting with her fiancé, Draco Malfoy. 

            He was the same height as Harry, but slightly skinnier. He also had silver-blond hair and steely cold eyes. I sighed, knowing that he was everything Ginny wanted, but hoped she was making the right choice. 

            Ginny smiled when she saw me. She was my best friend since I was in my first year at Carver and she was in Kindergarten. She jumped, up, hugged me, and then pulled me to the kitchen. 

            "I want you to be my maid of honor," she said, spontaneously. 

            "Really?" I gasped. "Are-Are you sure?"

            "Very," she grinned, hugging me. "Draco and I are thinking about Christmas for the wedding… what do you think?"

            "I think it's going to be lovely," I gushed to her. I had known that she had always wanted a winter wonderland wedding. Woo, what alliteration! 

            "Can… Can _Roses are Red, Violets are Blue_ supply the flowers for my wedding too?" Ginny had asked, referring to my flower shop. I squealed.         

            "Duh! Of course! And half price for you too!" I laughed giddily, hugging my friend. 

            "Whoa," said a voice. "Don't want to burst my eardrums, but I guess the secret is out, huh? Ginny's getting married."

            We both turned to see Ginny's brother, George, who is a twin. Of course, hardly anyone can tell them apart, but I have a knack for it. 

            I started forward, with puppy-dog eyes. "Oh, George, you can't tell anyone! It's a secret Ginny and Draco are telling everyone at dinner. Please promise you won't say anything!"

            "Yes, please George!" chimed in Ginny, copying my look. 

            George looked from Ginny to me, his eyes lingering with mine. Sighing, he finally waved his hand as he grabbed an apple from a basket. "Fine. I won't say anything." Then he looked curiously at me. "Why is it that you can tell Fred and I apart so well?"

            I shrugged. "Don't know."

            Molly then came bursting into the kitchen, her salt-and-pepper red hair messily tied in a knot. "Hermione! Ginny! So glad you two are here – and George! Food – NOW!" she ordered. When Molly orders something, you do it. 

            Together, we took plates filled with food outside to the Weasley's massive backyard and placed them strategically on the table so everything was within reach. 

            When that was done, Molly used her voice to shout that dinner was ready, and everyone came running out of the Burrow to the table. It was used as a buffet-style, with chairs set up in groups so people could talk privately if they pleased. 

            I must admit, I didn't know Draco Malfoy that well. I knew him from the school I had gone to, being slightly prestigious. He and I, though, never hung out in the same crowds, so we never spoke. I doubted he even knew who I was; that was hardly the matter though. You see, I have a problem with my self-confidence. If I hear someone saying something mean about me, it hurts. Oh, I'm sure it hurts everyone if they hear something, but I don't have that ability to let it slid. And I doubt I ever will. 

            Though, as much as I reckon, that night was the last straw…

            It was late when Ginny pulled Draco aside. They made a few heated whispers become apparent from where I stood, watching them curiously. Draco looked up and glanced at me. Blushing, I turned away, remembering that he didn't know that I knew that they were getting married. However, even though I couldn't see Draco, I certainly heard him. 

            "Ginny, who is that insufferable frizzball? Is she one of your brother's sluts? Really, I hope she isn't invited to our wedding," he drawled. 

            I felt the prickling of tears in the corner of my eyes. Swallowing a lump, I waited for Ginny's reply. 

            "Oh, Draco," she sighed. She didn't add anything to it, and didn't defend me. I had always considered her a good friend, but now I was beginning to reevaluate that. The lump grew in my throat as I gulped down my champagne, hoping to dislodge it. Nothing worked.

            When Ginny and Draco moved to the buffet table, I knew then Ginny wouldn't be defending me in the way I have been defending her in the past. With that (superficial) betrayal, I blinked away a few stray tears and turned. I went calmly into the Burrow, going from the kitchen to the living room, where I finally entered the hallway. I gathered my coat and had shrugged it on when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. 

            Surprised, I turned to face George Weasley. "Oh… hullo George."

            "Leaving so soon?" he asked, his face kind and concerned. 

            I smiled kindly back, and nodded. "I… ah, forgot that I have to open the shop early tomorrow. It's best that I head off. See you later."

            With that, I opened the door and left, walking back to my house. George watched from the doorway, making sure I got home all right. 

            I felt something in the pit of my stomach, but I was sure it was nothing. After all, it was just one kind friend looking out for a frizzball like myself. 

            The tears began to leak earnestly, and I found myself wiping them away, scratching my cheeks. I closed our family's main door and went straight to the spiral staircase. 

            "Hermione, dear? Is that you?" called my father from the living room. 

            "Are you home early, darling?" asked my mother, but I refused to answer either of them. I headed for my bedroom and then bathroom, stripping my carefully chosen clothes off and letting the shower turn on. 

            The tears dripped down, running over my cheeks and down my chin, dripping onto my stomach as I slid down against the bathroom door, curling into a tiny ball at the bottom. 

            _Why, why, why_? I wondered, letting the sound of the shower and the steamy air clear me up. After letting my tears out, I stood and left the bathroom, shutting the showerhead off, without taking a shower. 

            I crawled into my bed, and gave a shaky sigh. Why couldn't I find my Prince Charming? Why couldn't there be someone who would stick up for me? Like my really fat cat, Crookshanks? And why couldn't there be someone who just liked me, for me – the insufferable frizz ball? 

            I fell into an unsteady sleep that night. 

**-**


	2. Love II

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

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**A True Love Story**

**Chapter Two:**

            The next morning, I arrived at _Roses are Red, Violets are Blue_ earlier than I ever had in the four years I had owned my estranged Great-God-Aunt's boutique. I left the "CLOSED" sign, however, on the door until it was a quarter to seven. We weren't supposed to open our shop's until eight, but I felt that maybe if I opened the shop earlier I'd be able to leave earlier and sneak away to one of the bars and get smashed. 

            When the bell above my door jingled, signaling a very early customer, I walked towards them from behind a gold and scarlet curtain separating my office at the side of the store by the counter. I shouted out, "I'm not open yet!"

            "Hermione?"

            My eyes widened, I peaked around the curtain and saw George Weasley standing off to the side of the counter, leaning slightly to the left to try to get a look into my office, thinking that was where I was hiding. He was more than a little right. 

            "George!" I said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

            He shuffled his foot and placed his hands behind his back, looking down on the tiled floor. "Well, you left so suddenly last night, I just wanted to check in and see how you were…"

            "I'm fine," I lied, frowning. He glanced up and frowned himself, his eyes raking over my face. 

            "No you're not," he said softly. I sighed, exasperated. I had known the Weasley family for twenty years. In that time, I had been introduced to the Weasley twins at the age of five – when they were seven and in their "mischievous" stage – when I first went to Carver. My earliest memories of George and Fred were not always the best, but they had always been there for me, even when Harry and Ron were busy at rugby practice. 

            My first memory of George that had been was when one of Draco Malfoy's friends, Gregory Goyle, was harassing a fourteen year old me outside of the school doors. Ron was sick with the flu and Harry was at a late night practice his captain, Oliver Wood, had set up. Gregory had quite the reputation of being a bully and he thought of me to be the best target, as I was alone and scared of walking back to my dorm through the old building. He had cornered me and pressed his arms up over my shoulders, preventing escape. 

            He threatened me to give him what money I had on me, and some other flavours that I try hard to forget even to this day. Fortunately, George and Fred had gone on a little excursion that same night, and had heard my frightened shouts. 

            George had come running around the corner while Fred had run back into the school to find a Professor. I hadn't known anything of that until later when my dorm mates, Lavender and Parvati, told me. I do, however, remember George tackling Gregory and landing more than a few solid punches on his nose before Gregory stood and made an advancement again for me – only by then, George had stepped between us and had wrapped his arms around me, keeping me shielded from my attacker. 

            I never told Ginny or the other girls in my dorm how safe and secure I had felt in George's arms. I was only fourteen and told myself that he was just saving and protecting me because I was his little brother's best friend – nothing more. However, I couldn't help but notice my heart beat had sped up to a painful _thud-thud-thud_; I was so sure he could hear it. 

            Finally, when a couple Professors came with Fred leading them, did I realize what had happened that night. I had a schoolgirl crush on George Weasley. Of course, I couldn't let anyone know, and over time it faded away. We had always been close friends, but I knew that I couldn't ask for anything else is a relationship. I had only had two in my whole twenty-five years. One was with a rugby player that came to Carver in my fourth year who went by the playing name of Viktor Krum; the other was Ron. However, the latter didn't last long, as we argued far too much and he happened to have a wandering eye. 

            Blinking, I looked warily at George. "I assure you, I'm fine."

            "Stop lying, Hermione," he chided. "I know when you're lying and you're damn well lying now to me."

            He stepped around the edge of the counter and continued walking closer, purposely invading my personal space. He gripped my chin in between his index and forefinger, tilting my head up so I could look into his eyes. However, they skirted off to the side. 

            "You didn't sleep well last night," he finally said. 

            "No," I agreed. I didn't offer any other information. I didn't particularly wish to talk about last night. I had slept horribly, only getting a few hours of rest. I had spent most of the night thinking of what Ginny had said – or _not_ said – and wondered why. I knew I was blowing it out of proportion, but it did hurt. I doubt she'd like to be called a shocking redheaded freak, like she had back in her second year. I stood up for her then, didn't I? And what did she do for me last night, nothing. 

            I felt the anger boiling, and wrenched my chin out of George's grip. What was he doing here, anyways? He owned his own store with Fred down in London, a highly well known corporation. He was a partner with Fred in their joke line, which they titled Weasley's Wheezes – or 2W. He should be there, and not worrying over frizzball Hermione Granger.

            "Why are you here, George?" I murmured, turning and heading back into my office, shuffling paper and organizing them. I had about four orders to fill today and call the shipping company to send them out. I had no time to talk. 

            "I was worried," he answered, following me into my office. He stood behind me, and I could feel his eyes on my back. If he thought he would get an answer out of me, he was severely disappointed. 

            "For God's sake, Hermione!" he finally huffed, letting his Weasley temper get the better of him for once. He stepped up close behind me and reached around with his left hand to slam it down on the papers I was reading. Startled, I tried to back away, only to collide with him. 

            His hands grabbed my shoulders, and I stared up at him, with wide eyes. He had _never_, in all my years of knowing him, acted like this. 

            His grip tightened, and he nearly growled out, "Why won't you tell me what's bothering you? Can't you see I'm worried? You left in a rush yesterday and everyone wondered why you had left!"

            I managed a small squeak of fear. His freckled face was near mine, and his angry crystal blue eyes were stormy, turning into a deep cobalt blue. Six feet of pure Weasley male stood in front of me, and let me tell you – when one of the stockier Weasleys get angry, get the hell outta there… and that included Charlie, Fred or George. 

            Apparently, he immediately understood what had happened and realized he had frightened me because his grip on my shoulders disappeared and he took four gigantic steps backwards. 

            I stared at him, like he was stranger, and raised a hand to rub at my sore shoulder. He noticed and took a slight step forward with a hand outstretched, but stumbled to a stop when I took a step back to his step forward. 

            Hurt, he glanced away before looking at me and said quietly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

            I nodded, knowing he spoke the truth. "Just… just go, George. I have work to do."

            He nodded too, turning and parting the curtain, glancing once over his shoulder, before disappearing completely. I waited until I heard the jingle to indicate that he was gone before slumping down in my desk chair. 

            I glanced at the paperwork and realized that they would have to wait. There was no way I could do that right now, anyways. My mind was wandering and taking George for the ride. How could he have done that to me? He had never ever turned his anger on me since I had met him. That night when I was fourteen, he hadn't yelled at me for being alone outside, like Professor Snape had; no, George had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me his handkerchief and blow my nose on and had led me to the kitchens for some food. He was only comforting. 

            Perhaps something happened last night, after I had left? Was that why he was angry with me? He had seen me walk home, so he knew where I was, and could have told everyone… shaking my head, I decided that wondering would get me no where. I swept out of the office and twisted the "CLOSED" sign to "OPEN", before grabbing a water canister and filling it with water. Tending to my flowers always calmed me down and brought me joy. 

            While I was moving through the orchards, a jingle told me someone was in the store. I sincerely hoped it wasn't George, or any one else I knew.

            I stepped around the shelf and came face to face with an elderly man who wore the black business suit and bowtie. He was slightly taller than me, by two inches, and had a fluffy white moustache and twinkling gray eyes. 

            "Ms. Granger?" he asked, his voice rumbling and accented. He was certainly not from London, or the Yorkshire countryside. Why, he looked like a foreigner. 

            "Yes?" I asked, shaking the outstretched hand he was offering. "How may I help you, sir?"

            "Please, my name is Richard Gourieau," he said in his accented voice. "I am from a town in the French countryside. We have many festivals and celebrations there, and we order many of our flowers from your store. Perhaps you remember your shipment's name, Monsieur Jean-Luc Verte?" 

            "Jean-Luc Verte… Jean-Luc Verte… oh yes! Now I remember. There was the shipment of twenty Lily of the Valleys, and forty violets arranged together in twenty baskets with fern moss," I replied, my face lighting up. I quite liked the fellow who ordered the flowers – they had a humble voice and jolly laugh. 

            "_Oui_. We know that you have a store here, however, as the town's major I wish to offer you a job offer," he continued on. 

            "A job offer?" I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. 

            He nodded. "There is a perfect little boutique where you can have your store, and we – the townsmen – would quite like you to be there. Your flowers and their arrangements are wonderful."

            "Oh my," I whispered, wrapping what Mr. Gourieau had said around my brain. A job offer! No more of this stinky in-the-hole-corner-shop, no more worries about Ginny and Draco the jerk, no more worries about money, anymore, if what he was saying about people loving my flower arrangements. 

            "Why don't we go to my office in the back, and discuss it?" I offered, waving towards the curtain, and leading Mr. Gourieau there. I turned the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED" as I passed by, with a slight, wry smile on my lips. 

            That night, when I returned home after closing up the shop, I felt better than I had in _years_. The last time I had felt this good was when Harry and Ron took me out to a bar in London for the twentieth birthday. 

            I whistled and merry tune and greeted my mother and father both with a kiss on the cheek, telling them the wonderful news. No longer would I have to pay laborious do-dishes-for-old-bedroom rent for them, but I would be moving to another country, where anything was possible!

            Both my parents were ecstatic for me, though a little sad that I would be leaving by the end of the week to check out the boutique in Petit Perriou, and would be transferring all my flowers during the week. Mr. Gourieau had offered to pay for the transportation and to see whether or not I liked the small town. I assured him that I would. 

            Bouncing about, I could hardly contain my excitement and ran across the street and down a bit to the Weasley's, where I knocked on their door. Though only November, they already had their Christmas wreath on their door. 

            The door opened, and Bill was looking down on me in surprise. "Hermione! What a pleasure, come on in."

            "Thanks Bill," I said, smiling at him. He had gotten a new earring, I noticed. This one seemed to be a fang of some sort, compared to the "dragon tooth" one he had before. "Where is Ron?"

            "He and Harry are in his room, talking about football and comparing it to American soccer, apparently. They went to a _library_, for the first time," answered Bill, with a cheeky grin. I laughed and started to head up the stairs when someone stood at the top of the landing, starting down. 

            As they got closer, I was it was George. We certainly seemed to seeing each other a lot lately. 

            "Hullo," I greeted him, moving to pass by. He didn't move. 

            "Hermione, I _am_ sorry for this morning," he said, looking down at me from two steps above. 

            "It's quite alright, I told you that," I answered, trying to move past again. This time he let me, and I bounced up into Ron's room without knocking. 

            "Ron! Harry! Guess what!" I squealed, flying in and landing on Ron's bed, where Ron had spread himself out. I grabbed onto his legs, bouncing on my knees, causing the bed's mattress to roll. 

            "Ooh, stop it Herm, before I get seasick," moaned Ron, sitting up and pushing me off the bed so I landed on the floor in front of Harry. He snickered and I swatted him. 

            "Fine, be mean," I huffed, glaring at him. I ran a hand through my tangled mass of curls, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you want to hear my good news?"

            "Hermione has good news! Yay!" cheered sarcastically Ron, before sitting up and being attentive. "Well, what is it?"

            "Yes, what is it, Mione?" asked Harry, wriggling his eyebrows. "Date? Big sale? Won the lottery?"

            "None of those! Something _better_!"

            "What's better than winning the lottery?" asked Ron to Harry. Harry shrugged and turned back to me. 

            "Well, what?" he asked. 

            I took a deep breath, and pulled them into a standing position. "Come on, I want to tell everyone at once!" 

            Groaning, Harry and Ron allowed me to drag them through the house, yelling, "I'VE GOT GREAT NEWS EVERYONE!!"

            Soon, the whole Weasley clan was standing in the kitchen, minus Draco Malfoy and Percy Weasley, who was working at Scotland Yard late. 

            I took another deep breath and said with a wide grin, "I got a job offer… and I took it. I'm moving to France later this week."

            There was a collective intake of breath, before Molly stepped forward and gave me a big bear hug. "That's wonderful dear!"

            Harry and Ron joined in, swinging me in their arms and offering their congratulations. Bill, Charlie and Arthur all shook my hand and Ginny gave me a quick hug and peck on the cheek. Fred told me to call him up when he was in Paris for business meetings, and I told him I would. 

            I turned to see where George went, but he was nowhere to be found. Hurt, I frowned and turned to Harry. 

            "Where's George?" I asked, confused as to why my favorite Weasley would be missing. 

            Harry shrugged, but there was something in his eyes that told me otherwise. "I'm sure he'll show up before you leave, though." 

            I nodded and turned, saying I had to go. As I left, however, I heard Harry mutter to Ron, "He'd better, anyways."

**AN**: Right, well, I wanted to wait to get this one out for a bit, but it's out. The next chapter only has about two sentences written, which is more than I can say for EDN at the moment. Real life calls – I need to go out and socialize myself again with friends and I need to worry about the dreaded V-Day coming up. Yes, I hate Valentines. I think it goes back to some deep, psychological rooted fear that I never had a boyfriend over February. I always dumped them before, except this year – meaning this Feb. will be quite the show. Until then, stay tuned for updates for next chapters. Any criticism is appreciated (*My God, that's the first time I've ever written that*), and reviews are **greatly** appreciated. ~ Kneazle


	3. Love III

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

****

**A True Love Story**

**Chapter Three:**

_Dear Ron, Harry, and other Weasleys,_

_            I'm doing quite fine here in Petit Perriou. The countryside of France is gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll all agree when you see the pictures that I have included with this letter. The town itself is full of history and looks like it could be something right out of the early 1900's or late 1800's with all this gray, tall skinny European buildings and cobblestone streets. _

_            The people here are wonderful. When I first arrived, they all spoke in basic French and broken English to help me settle in to my new boutique. _Roses are Red, Violets are Blue_ is a big hit here. With the **Chocolat**            shop just next door, we make quite a pair. Everyone wants fresh flowers here, for the church or for their house. Everyone is nice but I do miss all of you, and especially my favourite Weasley. Oh, and you too, Harry!_

_            My shop is quite the oddity. I never imagined it to be quite like this. The shop itself isn't that large, but my office is now upstairs – in the loft above! Apparently, it's one of those shop is downstairs, home is upstairs things. I find it quite relaxing and much easier to live above my store. I have move the more expensive plants to my home and lock up whenever I feel like it or stay open whenever. _

_            Oh, and you'd never believe Monsieur Gourieau! He's such a gentlemanly fellow! He took me in to Paris to see the Russian ballet when they came in, and helped me perfect my French while I stay here. He even bought me some new furniture to bring since I could barely bring what I had back at my parents. After that, he told me I didn't look the part of a French woman, with my pale English skin and dark eyes, so he took me to some fancy salon in Paris too – he spent so much on me, it's embarrassing. I also found out, during our long talks, that he is a duke, and owns the magnificent Chateau Gourieau outside of Petit Perriou. He told me to come and visit whenever, but I haven't found time. _

_            Can you believe it has been over two years since I last saw all of you at Ginny's wedding? I have changed so much I am sure that none of you would recognize me! Alas, I should go – I must still continue to pack what I have left out in the open. It will be good to be home again, I miss all of you so dearly. _

_            Tell Ron to keep his temper in check, and Harry to watch out for all those girls on the street. I want to meet his latest snatch and see if she can tame his heart. Tell the Malfoys I say hello and wish them all the best with their child – and did I mention I saw Fred here a couple days ago with his lovely beau, Vianne? They make quite a pair. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, you'll adore your gifts, I'm sure. Bill, only the best wine for you. And George, I miss you very much. I have something for you too, a special gift. I hope to see all of you soon, and I will be home on the twenty-first of December. _

_            Love, Hermione_

            I signed the letter, folded it, and then placed it in the envelope I had. I filled it with scented flower petals that I had recently bought to add to my store, and licked its glue to seal it. After that, I got up from the counter of my store, scribbled a quick, _"Soyez de retour dans vingt"_, and hurried down through the tearing wind to the postal store. 

            As I entered, shutting the door forcefully behind me against the wind, I smiled at the young Spanish woman behind the counter, shuffling the mail. 

            "Hello, Hermione," she said, smiling pleasantly. She and I were the only two "foreigners" in Petit Perriou. She had come from Argentina to England, and then to Paris to study before taking a job offering here eight years ago. 

            "How are you, Mercedes?" I asked, handing her my envelope. She looked at it, raising a nearly black eyebrow, lifting it to her nose. Her eyebrows shot up at the scent. 

            "Love letter, my friend?" she asked, "Or as the French here would say, _lettre d'amour_?"

            "Ha, ha," I laughed, "You only wish. It's only a letter to the Weasleys, telling them that I will be coming home next week."

            "Oh, does this include a certain _George_ Weasley?" she smiled, placing the letter in a bin marked "_Européen_". 

            I blushed, sitting slowly down on a stool that she offered. "Perhaps…"

            "You don't have a childhood crush on him, you know," she said after a few moments of regarding me.

            "I don't? I thought I had always had it," I replied, startled. 

"No, no, Hermione." Mercedes waved her hand, her brown eyes twinkling as she leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. "No, you _love_ George Weasley. Now let him know."

            I had decided to return to London by train, to make a more romantic leave. I was only returning to London for Christmas with my parents and get to know my friends once again, but after two weeks I would be leaving once again to go back to Petit Perriou. However, I'm sure Mercedes knows that I won't be coming back if my feelings are returned. But, as I have said to her, we will see.

            King's Cross Station came into view, and I was jumping for joy when I saw the group of red-haired people and mass of blond and ebony. It had been far too long since I had seen any of my family. 

            I jumped off the train, racing across the platform towards the group. 

            "HERMIONE!" an exuberant voice called, and I rushed into the arms of Ron Weasley, who seemed to have grown another inch in the past two years. He swung me around, lifting me off the ground. Dizzily, I replied, "It's so good to see you Ron – Harry," before Harry also swept me into his arms, planting chaste kisses on my cheek. 

            "We've missed you, dear," said Molly and Arthur, hugging me tightly and mothering me. Bill, Charlie, Percy and Fred all gave me hugs and asked where their gifts were. I told them to wait and see. Ginny and Draco offered me a hug and chaste kiss as well, before my exclamation of Ginny's plump belly. 

            They smiled and took my regards warmly, before saying that had to leave, and would speak to me later. I nodded. 

            But where was George? 

            Harry must have sensed my confusion, because he voiced to the Weasleys that he and Ron were taking me out for dinner and keeping myself all to them. I laughed whole-heartedly, and followed them, saying I would see them all later. 

            As we left, my two best friends attached to my hips, Ron said, "Wow, Hermione… we didn't say anything earlier, but _damn_! You look amazing."

            "Thanks Ron," I replied, smiling at him. "Do I really look that nice? I was so unsure about seeing you all at first…"

            Harry shook his head. "No. You look simply beautiful."

            "Aw, Harry, won't your girlfriend be jealous of me now? We don't want that," I teased, poking him on the shoulder. My friends laughed, steering me into a pub that we usually went in to.

            We sat and ordered drinks, before I finally had enough courage to ask, "Where was George?"

            Harry and Ron shared a look, a look that I didn't like. 

            "What? Tell me, please," I begged. 

            Harry finally sighed. With one last glance at Ron, which I read as _Let me do the talking_, and I knew something was very wrong. 

            "Is he okay? He's not hurt is he?" I asked, my voice starting to break with an onslaught of unshed tears. 

            "No, no," began Ron, reddening slightly as he wondered how to deal with a hysterical female.

            Harry was the one who calmed me down, by sliding out of his side of the booth next to Ron and slide into my side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and crooned softly to me. 

            "Hermione – Mione, listen… we know you love him," he started, bluntly. 

            "What?" I rasped. "What? How can you--?"

            Ron gave me a sympathetic glance, fiddling with his beer. "We've known for a long time, Hermione. You were the one he ran to with problems, and vice versa. He was always there to protect you when Harry or I weren't. He even took you to our Graduation prom when your date ditched you at the last minute."

            I frowned, having forgotten that brief night. "Thanks for reminding me about that, Ron."

            He flushed, but Harry continued for him. "Look, we know that George really likes you – even fancies, and possibly loves you too. The thing is… something happened the day after Ginny and Draco's engagement announcement. He came back from your store that day a broken man – totally unable to function without shaking or muttering something under his breath. He wouldn't tell anyone about it, and when you came over that night, to announce you were moving to France"—

            Ron broke in. "He broke."

            "What?" I gasped. "What do you mean?"

            "He broke, as in he couldn't do anything. He was in a depression for a bit; a total funk that had Fred running all over the place with me helping him do double duty at 2W. He looked lost, like he had something he wanted and only then realized that he lost it."

            "What did he lose?" I asked, almost inaudibly. 

            "You, Mione," whispered Harry, tightening his arm around my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He realized that he cared about you more than he should have, and that freaked him out."

            "Why didn't he write? Say anything? Call?" I wailed, clutching Harry's sweater. I didn't care that I was raining buckets on him – I wanted to know why they brought this up. But I had to be strong. I _had_ to.

            "He was scared," said Ron, unwrapping a chocolate bunny. He popped it in his mouth before continuing. "But there's something else you should know before coming over or anything."

            "Why? What is it?" I asked, my crying spell past. 

            Harry and Ron shared another look. I couldn't take this anymore, when would they just _tell _me?

            Harry took a deep breath. "George… has a girlfriend… they're engaged to be married in two weeks."

            I was glad Harry was sitting next to me; because he caught me when I fell sideways in my chair in a dead faint.

            When I came to, I was in my bedroom, staring up at the pale opaque colour. Harry and Ron were slumped over at my window seat, their arms crossed and snoring softly. I turned to my right to see my bedside clock, reading 5:45 am. My friends had been with me for almost ten hours, not leaving my side; how wonderful of them – they must have known I would've collapsed.

            I yawned and stretched, before swinging my legs out of my bed and padding across the floor. I was just wearing my bra and knickers, which meant my two nymphomaniac friends must have had fun noticing the change in their best friend. 

            I smiled a little to myself, knowing they would never do anything to hurt me – we were all too close for that. I gathered up some of my new clothing and slipped into the bathroom, wondering about the news that they had told me earlier.

            I lifted a brush and began reminiscing about George, running the bristles through my silky hair, lost in the sensations of memories.

            It was a tingling sensation on my tongue made me realize just how shaky my fingers were, and as I realized this, I closed my eyes, brushing my hair a bit harder than I normally would. 

            I opened them, placed the brush down and looked at my reflection in my full-length mirror. 

            Shoulder-length silky brown hair in ringlets, narrow English face with almond shaped brown eyes, straight nose, full red lips smeared with gloss; petite body, with ample breasts and curvy hips, with long slender legs. Flat tummy, no blemishes on the skin… I looked fine. Very different from the pudgy girl I left behind two years ago. The French countryside agreed with me, it seemed.

            I wrestled on a hip-hugging jean ankle-length skirt, and pulled a white cardigan over my head, checking to make sure my make-up wasn't smudged. I then reached underneath the cupboard where I kept my shoes, and pulled out stiletto-heeled black boots. Once my outfit was complete and my self-confidence in check, I left the bathroom and smiled gently at the two of them. Ron was snoring, and Harry was wheezing slightly, his breath coming out in short hisses. 

            I smoothed each of their hair down on their heads before turning and leaving, scribbling a quick note saying I went for a walk. My parents would feed them if they woke up and I was gone, no doubt, so I had nothing to worry about. 

            I reached the foyer, taking my black Gucci purse with me as I stepped outside onto the stone pathway, very much aware of the dampness and the fog that was still lying on the ground. The sun was slowly making it's way up to the heavens, but seven am in December was still very early for it to be rising. 

            I opened my purse, stepping onto the empty street, and pulled out a package of Camels and my lighter. I lit the cigarette, putting the lighter away as the cigarette dangled between my index and middle finger as I did so. I then leaned against the stonewall that separated my family's house from the street and inhaled. 

            I was so lost in my thoughts about Christmas and returning to London that I barely heard another front door open and someone's steps as they crunched their way down the beaten path to the street, where they placed out two rubbish bins. 

            They straightened, looked at me and paused. 

            "Hermione?"

            My heart skipped a beat, and my guts tightened at the sound of _his_ voice. Oh, I wasn't ready for this, knowing now that he was engaged. I wanted more time, but it seemed that the fates were against me.

            I turned, taking my cigarette from my mouth and to my fingers again, and addressed him. "Hullo George. How are you?"

            George Weasley had not changed one iota as I stared back at him, his hair messy from just being woken up, and his eyes slightly glazed over. No wrinkles, no tan lines, no more freckles were evident on him, so I was safe to know that while I had changed, most of the world had not. 

            "H-Hermione," he stuttered slightly, his eyes roaming my body from toe to head, as he looked me over like he saw a ghost. "I-I'm…" he cleared his throat and stood all the way, looking warm and inviting. "I'm good. And you? How has France been for you?"

            I smiled openly, and dropped my cigarette, putting it out with my pointy heel. "It's been good there; lonely, though. I have really only two friends there, but you could say that one of them thinks I won't be returning."

            "Why is that?"

            "I've come to tell the man I love that I love him." There, I had said it out loud. He just didn't know it was directed at him. Hopefully.

            He must not have, because he paled, his freckles standing out against his pallor skin. He visibly gulped as I watched, before forcing out, "Congratulations then. You'll make him a very happy husband."

            "Don't you want to know who he is? You know him, you know," I couldn't refuse the itch to tease. 

            If I had thought he was pale, that was no exception to how ghostly he looked now. He must have looked like I had when I fainted. I took a step forward, extremely concerned. 

            "George? George, are you all right? Shall I get someone?" I asked, ready to turn back into my house and rouse Ron and Harry. 

            "No," he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's all right, Hermione, I'm fine."

            "No you bloody aren't," I chided, before using his own words back at him. "I know when you're lying and you're damn well lying now to me."

            The eerie reminder of why I had jumped at the chance of France rose between us, and we were both sucked in to the memories of that turning day. We both looked away, guilt and pain evident on both our faces, but I was the one who broke the silence.

            "Harry and Ron will be up by now. I should get back inside, although I'll be over later to eat some of Molly's famous Christmas dinners."

            George nodded. "I'll see you then," he said rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and entering the house again. 

            I sighed. "Oh, George… that man I love? He's you, you know…"

**-**

I entered the house, running up my stairs two at a time and burst into my room just in time to see Ron and Harry rouse from their slumber.

            "Where were you?" mumbled Harry between yawns. "You're all dressed."

            "Had a quick smoke," I replied, rummaging around open, but not yet empty, suitcases. "Dolls, I need help. I saw George outside just now and went bloody pale when I said I came back to tell the Weasley I love that I loved him."

            Ron groaned. "Oh no, I know that voice you're using, Mione."

            "Oh, come _on_, Ron. Are you and Harry going to help me or not? I need to find a Weasley bachelor tonight to aim at, because George is getting married. I can't just show up and go, 'Hey George, I love you. Let's run off to the Swiss Alps for a couple months.'"

            "Why not?" muttered Harry, helping me go through my clothes. "So you want to wear something special and knock-out tonight?"

            "Of course," I replied, a bit stiffly. "What else?"

            "Well… now might be a good time to tell you my secret, Hermione," said Ron, a bit shifty. 

            "What love?" I asked, standing upright and looking at Ron. 

            He fidgeted before rushing out, "I'm planning on telling my family that I'm coming out of the closet tonight."

            Harry and I shared a look, completely unfazed. 

            "Aren't you two supposed to be surprised?" asked Ron, raising an eyebrow.

            "Ron, dear," I said, stepping forward and hugging him, "We always knew you were batting for the other team. It was because you hadn't slept with someone of the female sex for quite some time now…"

            "And I found some Cher tapes under your bed a couple years ago," added Harry, smirking a bit. "I didn't know you liked her, Ron."

            "So…" he trailed off. "You're okay with it?"

            "Of course," Harry and I replied together, hugging our friend. "And besides," continued Harry, "We'll be there when you tell your family. They won't bother you too badly about it, Ron. I hope."

            Ron looked at Harry shrewdly. "Thanks for that vote of confidence, mate."

            They shared slaps and laughter as I stripped from my skirt and top. Standing in my knickers, I turned to the two, and almost yelled, "HELLOO? I need help here. Ron, help me find something to wear, Harry – which of the Weasley's aren't taken yet that George might be jealous of?"

            "Charlie," both Harry and Ron replied instantly. "But," continued Harry, "There are others… you didn't say there was a specific Weasley, did you?"

            "No. I said 'man'," I replied, as Ron held out a dry-cleaners bag. 

            "Have you worn this, whatever is in here?" he asked, unzipping it.

            "Once, at a ball in Perriou," I answered absently, as I watched Harry. He continued on, sitting himself on my bed and flicking on my television, to BBC News.

            "Well, Oliver Wood will be there, right, Ron? And he's single… and a Quidditch Player like George… and then there's that chap – what's his name? – That Ravenclaw from two years ahead of us…"

            "That cute one, Hammond or something? Taken and won't be there. I'd settle for Oliver, Mione," answered Ron.

            "Hmm… I'd settle for Charlie," winked Harry. "What do you say, Hermione?"

            "I say we let both of them on in the deal – and if all goes well, I'll treat them to lunch wherever they want," I winked back, grinning from ear-to-ear.

            Okay, so I didn't really like the idea of using Charlie and Oliver against George, but I _had_ to know if he loved me, and I really am not that confident to stand up, ask to speak to him privately, and then ask him, "Hey George, by the way, I love you." I've always been a bit more… reserved than that, and I wasn't going to change right now.

            "How about this?" asked Ron, holding up a black cocktail Gucci dress. I tapped a finger against my chin as I surveyed it.

            "No – it's too cold at night to wear that," I finally answered, turning back to my suitcase and taking articles of clothing out, and placing them in piles on my bed.

            Harry stopped flicking through the channels, and pointed at the bag Ron was still holding. "So, what's in there, Mione?"

            "Um… just a dress…" I replied vaguely. I didn't want them to know that was what Jean-Luc had bought me for a charity ball he had been hosting. He had taken me to Paris especially for the occasion, and spent a good deal of Euros on the dress, too. I had only worn it once, but the feel of the material on my skin – and the way the light reflected off it and my face… well, I positively _glowed_ when I wore the Vera Wang dress.

            "'Um, Just a dress'," mimicked Ron. He sneered a bit, before reaching for the zipper. "Then you won't mind if I open it…"

            "No!" I shouted, darting forward to grab it, but I was just a few seconds too late. Ron danced out of my grasp and unzipped the bag in one fluid motion, and gapped openly.

            "What does it look like Ron? Floral pattern?" snickered Harry when Ron didn't say anything. 

            Shutting his mouth with an audible snap, Ron turned his head slightly; pale, before answering in a small, tight voice, "No… no floral pattern Harry…"

            Taking his eyes off the telly, Harry looked up, and Ron showed him the dress. Pulling the hanger out of the bag, Ron held up the shimmering midnight blue strapless Vera Wang designer gown. Floor-length, it barely brushed the ground as Ron held it gingerly in the air high above the floor.

            Sunlight hit the dress through the partially opened blinds, and Harry gapped as the light bounced off the dress, making it shine and sparkle in an ethereal aura.

            "Mione… where did you get that?" he whispered. 

            Closing my eyes, I sighed. "Jean-Luc gave it to me. He was holding a ball and wanted me to be there as his guest of honor. Since I didn't have a dress to wear to the Chateau, we went to Paris and he bought me it."

            "Did you – did you have to pay him back?" stumbled Ron, looking at the tag inside the folds. 

            "No. It was a gift," I said shortly.

            Ron and Harry shared a look, before Harry nodded. Ron turned back to me and held the dress out. "Well, hang this up and get it ready with your matching shoes and gloves – you're wearing this tonight."

            "What?" my jaw dropped open. "Are you kidding? You wear a dress like this to an… a _ball_ – or a _government charity_ – or _something_! Not a Weasley dinner party!" I protested. "It's far to fancy – I wouldn't want to get anything on it with all the little cousins there, Ron!"

            Ron rolled his eyes. "Mione, Mione, Mione – there won't be any little tykes this year. It's just us grown-ups and spouses. You can fully wear this."

            He looked at me, and I opened my mouth to argue – but he cut me off. 

            "Now, Harry and I will go over to my place right now – after some breakfast, of course – and we'll talk to Charlie. Harry will ring up Oliver on his mobile, and we'll get back to you about your plan. Are you fully sure you want to do this, now?"

            I looked away from Ron's sapphire eyes. This was his _brother_ I was going to play with here – and maybe even break his heart and trust forever if something good came out of it. Was it really worth the risk that I was about to willingly take?

            _Yes, yes!_ A tiny voice in the back of my mind screamed. _You love George Weasley – now do something about it!_

            "Yes. Let's do it."


	4. Love IV

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

****

**A True Love Story**

**Chapter Four:**

          As Harry and Ron left, saying that they'd give me a call as soon as Oliver and Charlie were free for us to meet them, I found myself wondering what the hell I'd gotten into. I fell onto my bed, still wearing the Victoria Secrets lingerie that I adored, and felt the throbbing of a headache coming on.

          I was still sitting on my bed when my mother knocked on my door and opened it.

          "Mione, dear, what's wrong?" she asked, stepping inside, and shutting the door behind her forcefully. I could hear my father downstairs in the living room, fiddling with his old records and playing his favourites on the record player.

          "Ehh… nothing mum," I replied, hesitantly, looking up from the spot on the wall I had been staring at. "Why?"

          Gertrude Granger raised an eyebrow at me, and I knew I was busted at that second. "Hermione, don't give me that. Now, what's wrong?"

          Rolling my eyes, I sighed and slumped over, tracing a pattern on my bedspread. It was rumpled and disturbed, just as Harry had left it earlier. 

          "Mum… I'm in love with someone who is engaged to be married."

          I felt a whoosh, like relief; lift off my shoulders, making me feel lighter than before. 

          "Well, I always knew you and George were quite a pair," came my mother's voice.

          My head snapped up sharply, and I gasped out, "WHAT?? You knew?"

          My mother rolled her own eyes, her short dirty-blonde-almost-brown-hair glittering in the morning light as she did so. "Who didn't?" she answered wryly. 

          I felt my jaw hit the floor as I stared at her. My mother. My own bloody mother knew, and if she knew, Gods above, how many others did?

          "How long?" I whispered. 

          "Since you were a teenager."

          "Oh fuck." The words slipped out of my mouth before I could take a hold of them, but I was surprised when Gertie laughed. 

          "C'mon, Hun, I think you need a dose of breakfast food and then we'll wait for Harry's call," she smiled, pulling me up from the bed, and handing my bathrobe towards me. "Put this on, love."

          "Thanks Mum," I said, pulling my arms through the warm material. I stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "Love you."

          My mother's arms wrapped around my back as she hugged me tightly in return. "And I love you – but if you don't hurry you won't have the bacon and eggs that Ron kindly left you."

          We laughed together, and went downstairs. 

**-**

          I tapped my fingers against the tabletop in the study, not reading the book that I had laid out in front of me. It was two hours since Harry and Ron left, and my mobile phone had not even beeped once. I was beginning to get impatient and worried that Charlie and Oliver had declined, and that they didn't want to help me.

          Suddenly, Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" rang, and my mobile lit up. I reached for the phone, clicking a button before placing it to my ear.

          "Hello? Harry?" I asked, gripping the table unconsciously.

          "Hullo love!"

          I breathed a sigh of relief. "Where the bloody hell have you been?" I demanded instead. "I've been waiting for hours, and tell Ron if he ever decides to finish of my _Lucky Charms_ again I'll castrate him."

          "Will do, Mione. Anyways. Can you meet us at our usual pub?" Harry asked, his voice a little fuzzy with background static.

          "Of course. Will… will Charlie and Oliver be there?" I had to ask.

          "Charlie said he can't come, but he'll help out. Oliver will be there within the next half-hour. Ron and I were ecstatic when he said that he'd be more than glad to help. Something about getting George back for a prank he did by placing his boxers on the football field back at Carver."

          I laughed out loud. "Be there as soon as possible, darling. Order me a pint while you're there. Tell Ron I give my love."

          "Will do. See you soon, Hermione."

          There was a click that signaled the end of our conversation, and with the buzz ringing in my ears; I raced up the stairs to find something acceptable to wear to the pub.

          Tossing my robe towards my chair, I rummaged through my suitcases for something to wear. I finally chose Parascuco pants, and the white sweater from that morning. Roxy shoes were placed on my feet as I grabbed my Gucci purse and winter coat before running out the door. 

          Harry, Ron and I had gone to the same pub since we had graduated from Carver. It was a small little dingy place located between a small used automobiles shop, and an apartment building located in a darker place of Piccadilly. We had gone there since Harry had started at Oxford, and Ron and I at Cambridge. It was surprising that we managed to stay friends since we had gone to different universities and with different fields, but we routinely met up at the Hog's Head whenever we could. 

          I, while thinking this, had maneuvered my way to the Underground, and was waiting for my stop. Once it was declared, I stood and made my way up back to the real world, soaking in the crisp British air and soft sunlight that filtered down between high-rises and reflections of windows. 

          I spotted the Hog's Head after a couple minutes of walking towards my destination, and entered without a second thought. Although seedier than most local pubs, I never felt uncomfortable when I was in it; I spotted Harry and Ron right away, in our usual seat by the tinted window in a corner.

          Making my way over, I grinned and asked coyly, "Is this seat taken?"

          Ron laughed and slid over in the seat so that I could sit next to him. "Not at all, Miss. How about you have this pint we so graciously ordered for you?"

          "Thanks, love," I replied, grinning widely as I lifted the heavy glass to my lips. "How much longer until Oliver arrives?"

          "Not long, I reckon." Harry craned his neck and glanced towards the door, and then out the window. "Ah! There he is – heading this way with purpose, of course. Could never expect anything different from him."

          We grinned to each other as the door opened and he spotted us, making his way between seats. Finally reaching, he turned to Harry first, a better-known friend than Ron or I was ever to him. 

          "Harry, old chap – been four years since we last spoke! How are you doing?" he asked jovially, his Scottish lilt deep and rumbly as he and Harry shook hands. 

          "Good, good," smiled Harry openly, "never been better." He turned to motion towards us. "You remember Ron Weasley, George and Fred's youngest brother?"

          "Ah, how could I? With hair like that it would be impossible," he grinned, his brown eye lighting up with recognition. "How are you doing Ron?"

          The pleasantries were exchanged, and finally Oliver turned to me; and when he did, a low appreciative whistle escaped his lips.

          "Now, Harry – you shouldn't keep this jewel to yourself," he said, his eyes skimming over from toe to head. I shivered under his scrutiny, and Harry and Ron shared a look behind Oliver's back.

          "Oliver, you remember Hermione, don't you? Our best friend?" he grinned widely, watching the exchange. 

          Oliver's eyes widened, as he realized who I truly was. I shifted slightly on my feet, bringing my hands in front of me to fidget with. "How are you, Oliver? Football has been well for you, I hope?"

          My voice was quiet and soft, like a nervous schoolgirl on her first date with the popular jock of the year. I felt quite foolish, but reminded myself that this was for George – for George to notice me, not Oliver. Yet, I still felt like I should be in his expectations to do a good job at pretending we were a couple.

          With a grin, Oliver stepped forward and swept me into his arms, making my feet rise off the floor. With a gasp, Oliver turned me in a full circle before placing me on the ground again.

          "Good _God_, girl – when did you grow up and forget to mention it to the British male population that you did so?" he laughed, as Ron sat next to Harry and Oliver and I sat next to each other in the booth. 

          I laughed too, happy to see that there were no problems with what I was proposing. 

          "So you're okay with this scheme, Oliver?" I asked tentatively, one last time before it was placed into action.

          "'Course," he chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his throat, as he leaned me up against him. "It sound like fun, and you obviously love George too – especially to sink down to make him jealous."

          "Gee, you make it sound like it's a horrible idea," I mumbled, looking at the tabletop. Ron laughed.

          "Well," Oliver grinned down at me, "You haven't met his fiancée."

          "Should I be worried?" I grimaced, trying to disperse of a leggy blonde with bright blue eyes and to-die-for complexion. There was no way I could compete with that, especially if he was devoted to her.

          "She hasn't met Deborah?" 

          "Deborah?" I asked, sitting up. "Is that his fiancée's name? What's she like? Can I compete with her?"

          Harry laughed. "Hermione, Ron and I are meeting her tonight for the first time, but Oliver here has already met Deborah a couple of times while being out with Fred and George."

          "Well?" I asked, turning to face him again, devoting my attention to what I needed to learn about my enemy.

          "Well," began Oliver, grinning. "She doesn't have _anything_ on you, love, so don't worry yourself. She's the most self-absorbed woman I've ever met. She cares too much for her pet dog than for George at times, and she manipulates anything within a ten-mile radius. Don't believe a word she says, darling – come straight to Fred to myself and ask us about it. George tells us everything in their relationship."

          "Is he happy with her?" I whispered, wanting to hear the most important thing. If he was, I was going to stop this silly crusade right then and there, but if he wasn't…

          I held a breath, waiting for Oliver's answer.

          He looked down on me, with deep chocolate coloured eyes, searching mine before he answered in a low tone that I barely caught and yet heard so clearly.

          "He always loved you, and no one else, love. He doesn't love Deborah. Go for it, Hermione."

          I expelled my breath then, a small smile floating across my face as he finished. 

          "Oh, and Hermione, love? Call me Olli."

          The Weasley's dinners were always a spectacular event. I had known that since I had first gone over to Ron's as a young girl. Dinner was Molly Weasley's specialty, with a table filled to the edges with delicious looking food with savory aromas that made your mouth water.

          Oliver had arrived at my house at seven, waiting to escort me one house over to the Weasley's, where Ron and Harry met us at the door, ready to put the plan into action. 

          Under Ron, Harry and Oliver's direction (after having the three of them help me pick what to wear tonight), I finally settled on Jean-Luc's gorgeous dress. With matching slippers and purse, I felt like a princess entering the court of her lover's home. 

          I was so nervous.

          Oliver slipped his hand into mine, squeezing it lightly as he sensed my anxiety. Leaning down towards me, he whispered in my ear, keeping his eyes locked on mine to appear authentic, "Don't worry – you'll do fine, Hermione."

          "Thank you," I whispered back, squeezing his hand in acknowledgement. I glanced around the small entry room, looking over the faces of those I had grown to love as a second family. 

          Molly spotted us the second Ron and Harry and Oliver began a topic about football (she seemed to have a sixth sense on the topic and always spared me whenever the boys brought it up), and shrieked in delight. 

          Heads turned in our direction, and I felt my face flare up with colour. 

          "Hermione, you look wonderful!" she declared, making her way towards me to embrace and kiss me on the cheek. "How are you dear?"

          "Fine, Molly – and you?" I asked politely. I took a step back away from her and towards Oliver's side again, making her eyes widen in surprise. 

          "Are – are you?" she stuttered out, looking between Oliver and myself quickly. 

          Oliver grinning his charming football smile. We didn't say anything, letting Molly come to her own conclusions. After all, she never finished her sentence, and all Oliver did was smile. We never confirmed anything. 

          I turned my body slightly, facing towards Oliver as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and after saying our "see you later's" to Molly, began to circulate. 

          "Do you see him?" I mumbled out of the corner of my mouth.

          "No, not yet – wait, there he is, with Deborah," said Oliver, standing taller and straighter as we began to make our way towards George, who was talking to Fred, Charlie, and Deborah.

          I let my eyes roam his body. He wore a simple black tux, with a tie that I had given to him for his birthday a couple years back. Deborah, on the other hand, look liked she had swallowed a sour lemon. She was also a brunette, and looked a little like me. She was short, and we had the same complexion. She wore a simple black designer dress – I was guessing Prada or Gucci or even Miu Miu – but it did nothing to her boxy figure.

          "Hullo Fred, Charlie, George," said Oliver, charmingly. He turned to Deborah and grinned. "Debbie."

          "Don't call me that, Oliver," the woman all but drawled. I exchanged glances with Charlie, who rolled his eyes at the ceiling before looking back at Deborah quickly. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning and laughing. 

          "Ah, well… guess you're not one for pet names, Deborah," sighed Oliver. He turned to me slightly, running the back of his hand lovingly over my cheek. "Unlike my Mione here. Don't you agree, love, that pet names are quite fun and add to a relationship?"

          "Of course," I replied, smiling softly at Oliver, glancing down at his lips. "Olli."

          He grinned with me, and shared a wink with Charlie, who snorted into his wine goblet, his blue eyes fixated on George.

          I too then turned to face George. "How are you doing, George? I didn't see you when I came from the station."

          "Station?" interrupted Deborah. "Were you not in London lately, _Mione_?" she sneered my name out. 

          Bristling inwardly, I smiled sweetly. "Hermione, Debbie. And yes, I was in France, where I have a business."

          A tiny twitch began to appear on the left side of her brown eyes, and I knew that she was sizing me up. Yes darling, I thought while holding her gaze. You've got yourself competition. 

          Sensing my thought, she then smiled dryly and let her left hand rub George's shoulder, the ring's diamond catching the light.

          "George, dear, why don't you get us another drink? I'm absolutely parched."

          "Parched," snorted Fred quietly, "I only thought chickens could be parched."

          "I believe that it is actually steak," I replied jovially. Fred laughed and Charlie and Oliver joined in, while George's lips turned upward into a smile. Deborah, however, didn't look amused. 

          "So where do you live, Hermione?" she asked, looking over my dress. "For someone who is in the business world, one would think that buying a designer Vera Wang dress would be out of your price range."

          Anger bubbled and coursed through my veins. How dare this little chit speak to me like that!

          "I live down the street, Debbie. I've been a neighbor to the Weasley's for over twenty years now. And you?" I deliberately left my dress out of the sentence. I liked my dress! It looked exactly like the one from the Fox animated movie, _Anastasia_. 

          "I live in London. By Hyde Park," said the woman. Apparently, living in the wealthier area made her superior. 

          "Oh?" I replied politely. 

          "Oh indeed," she finished, raising an eyebrow to tell me that the war wasn't over yet. 

          Good, I thought angrily. Because I was intending to win it.

**AN:** Dedicated to my mom and dad, who always seem to know when I'm in one of my moods. ALSO, I noticed my references between "Quidditch" and "football/rugby". I've fixed things in this chapter and will go back to older chapters to fix them too. Thanks for pointing it out to me! ~ Kneazle (May 4, 2003)


	5. Love V

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

**A True Love Story**

**Chapter Five:**

          "I hate her! I absolutely hate her!" I fumed to Harry and Ron as we sat on Ron's bed in his bedroom. We had snuck away from the party for an hour, gossiping. Sometimes, having two men, as your best friends were amazing. They picked up on things that we women don't.

          "I can imagine," grinned Ron. "First, she insults your dress, and then where you live. How horrible!"

          "Stuff it, Ron," I frowned. "I don't like her at all. She flaunts her wealth and the fact that she's engaged to George. It makes me wonder who did the actual proposing, the way she controls him around like a slave rather than her lover."

          "Maybe she did," snickered Harry, dodging a pillow that I flung at him. 

          "Shut it, Potter! And just when are _you_ going to propose to _your_ girlfriend, or are you waiting for her to pick out a diamond ring from a catalogue and say, 'Harry, love, I like this one, and June for the wedding. Oh, and how about Samantha for a girls' name?'"

          Ron snorted his laughter and dove under his bed covers, ineffectively masking his howls of laughter. 

          Harry raised an eyebrow at my sneered sentence, but then grinned and pulled me close. "Aww… c'mon Mione – you know that Laurel and I have a nice, easy-going relationship. Why muck it up with babies and weddings and in-law house calls?"

          He then proceeded to wrap an arm around my waist before tickling my side with his free hand. 

          I started giggling like mad, shrieking out for him to stop. Ron was laughing from his side of the bed, more so when Harry lost balance and we fell to the floor with me on top of him. 

          "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" drawled a voice from the doorway. Looking up, we saw Deborah, George, Charlie and Oliver standing there, looking at us with amused expressions (all but Deborah, of course).

          "Oh. Hello Weasleys!" said Harry, looking at them upside-down. "Did you get lost? I do believe this is Ron's bedroom."

          "So it is. And just why are you two in it?" asked Deborah. I raised my eyebrows, before realizing what Harry and I looked like. 

          I shrugged, resting my elbows on the floor on either side of Harry's chest, before smiling. "What does it look like?"

          Deborah bristled, while Charlie coughed. Stepping forward, she spotted Ron sitting on his bed, red-faced from trying not to laugh. She, of course, didn't know that.

          "Oh. I see. Cheat on your boyfriend then, Ms. Granger. You apparently don't have any class, or any scruples of relationships."

          I saw red. How dare she! Who the hell did she think she was? I stood, with Harry rising uncertainly beside me, looking back and forth between us. Ron, sensing my famous temper was rising, began jovially, "Now, Deborah. You don't know the whole story here—"

          "Damn straight!" the boxy brunette snarled. She stepped further into the room, pointing a finger at Ron. Harry held me tightly around the waist as I struggled to reach here and claw her eyes out.

          "All I see are you young men, with a young woman who has a handsome boyfriend, _tousling_ around on a bed and then on the floor – their faces inches away from each other! Goodness knows what was going on!"

          I let out a tiny shriek, my arms straining against Harry's, who had pinned them together with his arms wrapped around my stomach. 

          Oliver now entered, coming to stand in front of me. He whispered, in a loud enough voice so everyone heard, "I like someone who's feisty in the kip."

          I stopped struggling out of shock, Harry's arms disappeared from shock, and Ron fell off his bed. George, I noticed, paled considerably from where I stood, his gaze locked on mine. 

          Charlie, noticing the tension, announced in a loud voice, "Deborah, have you seen the small grove of trees just behind the yard? No? Why don't we take a stroll? Ron – you know the area better than anyone. Come with us!"

          "Yes, Charlie!" saluted Ron, sensing his brother's plan. "Harry, Oliver? You coming too?"

          "Sure," the two replied with enthusiasm. That was where they played football all the time. 

          I stood there, watching as the men all left, leaving me alone with George for the first time in two years. 

          We stood in silence, the only noise coming from the door when it was shut, and the sound of a lock being put into place (I am sure, though, that Deborah wasn't around when they did this, or else we would've heard her screaming like a banshee). 

          Finally, I sighed and moved to sit by Ron's window, looking out over the front grounds. "It's been a long time, George."

          He nodded, and walked towards me slowly. I watched him through the reflection of the window. With the light fading outside, the room became slowly darker and stars appeared outside, lighting the ground in a gorgeous array of soft moonlight and starlight. 

          "It has," he agreed, coming to stand beside me at the window. "How was France?"

          "Wonderful. I'm returning there after the Christmas holidays," I said, smiling slightly as I turned to face him, looking up. 

          "What about this… this man you love?" he questioned, though I detected jealousy and anger and sadness escaping in his voice. 

          "What about him?" I asked. 

          "Is it Wood?"

          "Oliver?" I shook my head. "Goodness no… we're just friends."

          "You look and act more than friends," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice now. I raised an eyebrow, leaning one shoulder against the window. 

          "And…?" I trailed off, hoping he'd elaborate. He did.

          "_And,_ he's not right for you. He's a playboy, Mione, he'll end up loving you and then leaving you without a care in the world," spat George. 

          "You realize this is one of your friends you're talking about," I answered quietly. 

          George nodded. "I like me mates and all, but Oliver is a player, Mione." He then cupped my chin in his right hand, tilting my face up. "You deserve better."

          "Who do I deserve?" I whispered, my eyes dropping to his lips before I looked at his blue eyes once more. God, I could drown in those sapphire orbs of his – twinkling there in the moonlight, a deep and fathomless pool of sparkles and promise of danger…

          "Not Oliver," he breathed, his face coming closer to mine. I held my breath, tilting my head up more to meet him halfway. 

          When his lips brushed mine, I felt proverbial butterflies run amuck in my stomach, and fireworks go off all around me. 

          He deepened the kiss, pulling me flush against him as his arms wrapped around my waist tightly and mine threaded around his neck, pulling myself up to his height. 

          George then broke slightly away, looking at our entwined bodies and me. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against mine and whispered, "Gods… I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have."

          "No," I agreed, "You shouldn't have… but you did."

          "Deborah… Mione, I'm engaged to her," he all but breathed into my ear. I shivered, from both desire and horror. 

          "I know. But the question is, do you love her, George?" I asked, breaking away from his arms. I walked to the door, twisted the doorknob and found that it had been unlocked. I stepped out of the room, and into the bright, lit, hallway, pausing only to see George's forehead against the window and his arm above his head. 

          I closed the door softly, and then walked down the hall. 

          We would see each other again soon. I knew it.

          We – Harry, Ron, Oliver, Charlie and myself – sat in the living room in my parent's house later than evening, passing around a large bottle of imported liquor and taking swings from it. 

          My parents were out at a company party, so we had the house to ourselves that evening. We reside there, because not only was it more private than the Weasleys by _far_, it also served purpose that we conspirators were all together in one place at one time without anyone whisking us off somewhere. 

          "So what do you think of this Deborah chit, Hermione?" asked Charlie, taking a swig before passing it to Oliver, who sat beside him on the couch. 

          "She heinous. I think she's a control freak," I answered, watching Oliver take a drink, and passing the bottle to me. I took it, drank its liquid greedily, before passing it to Harry, who was on the floor. 

          "Good God," moaned Ron, from his spot on an armchair next to Harry. "She's bloody horrible! And I mean _horrible_ with a capital 'H'! I know gay men who are less bitchy than her when backstabbed!"

          We all chuckled, thinking of Ron's spectacular entrance from out of the closet earlier at the dinner table.

          We had all been sitting down at the kitchen table, enjoying some small talk about my business, while glaring at Deborah of course, when there was a brief moment of silence. That was when Ron cleared his throat, and said, "I'm gay."

          There was more silence before Fred turned to Bill, and said in a plain, bored voice, "You owe me fifty dollars."

          Ron blanched, looking at Fred with curiosity in his azure eyes. "You were betting on my _sexuality_?"

          "Oh yes," replied Molly. "For three years now."

          Harry and I broke out into laughter, which effectively stopped Ron from hearing Deborah remark to George, "You have a _freak_ in your family. That's just wrong."

          I, of course, heard and bristled angrily. She was making fun of one of my best friends! My best friend! I opened my mouth to cut her down to a small size of mucus, when I felt Oliver's hand on my thigh. 

          He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "Leave it be. You can get her back later, Hermione."

          I nodded mutely and he sat back, grinning at he listened to Fred explain a new joke for their shop. 

          "Still," I sighed. "I'll do anything to get George to notice that I've been in love with him since I was fourteen."

          "Fourteen." Remarked a new voice. "That's an awfully long time, don't you think so?"

          We all turned to see Fred standing in the doorway of the living room, leaning up against the timber, grinning wickedly. 

          "So, my dear friend," he continued, stepping further into the room, "you've been in love with my twin brother, and no one knew."

          "That's not true," piped up Harry. "Ron and I knew. Gertie – Mrs. Granger – knew too. So some people did know."

          Fred waved those people away with a wave of his hand, settling himself on the floor next to Harry. "Pfft. Family and best friends don't count."

          I blinked, before shrugging. "Okay," I said, a bit slurrish. Oops. Too much alcohol, I think. "Wanna drink?"

          Fred grinned, snatching the bottle out of Ron's hands. "Why, I don't mind if I do. So what's the plan? That you are all obviously involved in."

          I groaned. "I'm _sthooo_ obvious."

          "And _so_ drunk," mimicked Oliver, grinning. "Does she normally not hold her drinks well?" he addressed the last part to my best friends, who were grinning and laughing at me.

          "Not at all. She can't take more than a couple of glasses before she feels it – and more in the morning. Someone should stay here with her," said Harry. 

          "But what about her parents?" asked Charlie.

          "Hullo, I'm right here," I managed to get out of my mouth without sounding drunk. I waved a hand in front of Oliver's face, but he only caught it and held onto it while looking at everyone else.

          "Well, I think I should say, if Hermione and her parents wouldn't mind," he said finally, and everyone agreed. "Let's at least brief Freddie here on Hermione's plan and love life."

          "Lack thereof," piped up Ron, instead. 

          "Spoilsport!" I moaned, leaning my head on Oliver's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders to keep me up. 

          "Now, now, Mione, no name calling. Reserve that for Deborah," he said, after filling Fred on their plan. "That brings me to another point of our Hermione Dilemma. What do we do about Deborah?"

          "We could lock her in a room while Hermione professed her love for George," suggested Ron. 

          "No," objected Charlie, "we tried that earlier today, but with Hermione and George locked in a room. Didn't go to well, actually."

          I stuck my tongue out, not caring who saw or whom it was aimed for. I just felt like it, since my mind was a bit foggy at best and I was only catching parts of the conversation around me. My eyesight was going a bit blurry around the edges, and more than one I found myself nodding off. 

          Finally, darkness descended on me, and I began to snore loudly. 

--//\\--

          _POUND, POUND, POUND_.

          Good god, what is that infernal noise? It sounded like someone was trying to knock the house down. 

          "Go 'way," mumbled another noise; a human, male's voice, right beside my ear. The hot breath tickled my sensitive skin, and when I rolled slightly, I saw Oliver sleeping on my bed, his arm draped lazily over my hips. 

          I liked that suggestion he made, so I placed my head back on the pillow, closing my eyes. My head hurt like hell (it was the alcohol), and the pounding hadn't stopped (I was going to sue), and I was bloody tired. 

          Ah. Finally, the pounding _did_ stop, and then there was silence. Of course, until I heard another noise. It was the sound of a key being inserted in a lock. 

          That was silly, I reprimanded myself. Only Harry, Ron and my parents knew where our spare key was (on the ledge on top of the door), so I was beginning to think there was an intruder, or Harry and Ron coming to see me at the early hour of – I turned to see the time on my clock – nine am. 

          Wondering what was going on, I sat up slightly, immensely dizzy and feeling stupid for trying to move when I was still in pain. I swung my legs off the bed, leaving Oliver to snooze on the bed we shared. I wore my blue satin button-up shirt and baggy drawstring pants, and once again realized that Harry and Ron had changed me, and this time improved by not leaving me in my knickers (I'm guessing they changed me because they weren't going to leave me in a thong in bed with Oliver. They must have gotten Ron to put the clothes on me, because according to the playboy Ollie himself, no red-blooded English male could resist me!).

          I crept to the door, holding onto a coca-cola glass bottle from the 60s before venturing out into the hallway, and then down the stairs, where I heard someone prowling about the living room, muttering. 

          Stepping into the doorway, I realized what they were muttering about; left over bottles of vodka, liquor, and beer were lying around the floor and tabletops, and blankets and pillows were scattered around the room. 

          But what shocked me most of all was _who_ was in my house. It was no one other than Deborah – George's fiancée. 

          After the shock left my body, I screamed. That should have woken Oliver up, I thought before yelling (not caring about my throbbing head), "What the bloody 'ell are you doing here?"

          She paled, looking at me from the toes up, before opening her mouth. Finally, the sound of footsteps thundering down my stairs reached our ears, and seconds later, a messy-haired Oliver appeared, his white button-up not done, and loose on him. 

          "What's going on, Mione?" he asked, his eyes settling on me, before swinging to Deborah. "How the hell did you get in here?"

          "I'm wondering that myself," I agreed, crossing my arms, glaring. When Deborah didn't say anything, I motioned Oliver to the kitchen. "Call George and tell him we've picked up a stray, will you, love?"

          Oliver nodded, mutely, before disappearing into the kitchen. I took three steps forward, pushing my face into Deborah's before hissing, "I don't know who you think you are, but breaking and entering is a _punishable offence_, and I plan on taking this to the police if you don't tell me what you're doing here in **three seconds**."

          Deborah's mouth finally shut with a snap, when Oliver appeared. Finally, she tilted her head up, her nose in the air as she stared me down from the end of her nose.

          I let out a shrill scream just as George came through the door, and it took him only a few seconds to catch me around my waist as I launched myself at Deborah. Witch! I thought, snarling. 

          She watched on with amusement in those eyes, glad that I was making a spectacle of myself. I didn't care. I just had to find out what she was doing in my house, snooping through _our_ things!

          George's arms tightened as I tried to yank myself out of his grasp. Instead of telling me to calm down, he turned his eyes on his fiancée. Sapphire glared at nondescript brown, as George asked quietly, "What are you doing here, Deborah?"

          She didn't answer at first, so I continue to struggle even as knew it would be futile to leave George's arms. Oliver stood off to one side, watching the chaos around him. He seemed to take particular interest in the way George was holding me.

          "Deborah?"

          "I'm very sorry," she began, "but Hermione and I were supposed to have breakfast together and then go out shopping. When she didn't answer the door, I tried the knob and found it was unlocked."

          "Bullshit!" I screamed, renewing my struggle to wring the bitch's neck. "Where are you getting this??"

          "Hermione," growled George, "Let me handle this."

          I didn't answer, still struggling but now not as much as before. I wanted to see George take this woman down! What on earth was he thinking when he asked her to marry him?

          "I suppose it's because you drank so much last night," sighed Deborah. She wrinkled her nose. "I can smell it from here, you know… and you probably forgot that we spoke about this just before you left yesterday night from Mrs. Weasley's."

          "I'd hate to interrupt," said Oliver quietly from his corner, "But that's not true. I was with Hermione as we left, along with Harry, Ron, and Charlie. They agree with me when saying that Hermione was never once alone, or speaking to Debbie by herself."

          George nodded at his friend, before raising an eyebrow at his to-be wife. "Well, Deborah? How did you get in here?"

          Sniffing, she folded her arms before whining out, "I saw Fred enter through the spare key. I wanted to come here this morning to speak to Hermione."

          "About?" I all but sneered.

          "Girl stuff," she said flimsily. 

          "Girl stuff?" I repeated. I started to laugh. "Excuse me, but you're more _girl_ than I am… I just do what my friend says is feminine. I have no knowledge of girly things. Speak to your future sister-in-law if you must, but not I."

          Deborah started, but then composed herself. "But I want to spend time with you!"

          I blinked stupidly. "What?"

          "Yes, with you. How about it? We'll get to know each other so much better. George has been saying so many nice things about you, I feel like we already know each other."

          "That is so the oldest line in the book," I muttered. Oliver, off to the side, grinned and chortled jovially before setting himself on the couch, while George slipped his arms away from my waist, sure now that I wouldn't attack. 

          "Pardon?" she stumbled. 

          "Look," I began, "You don't like me. And I certainly don't like _you_. Apparently we're after the same thing, and I intend to kick your ass the whole way there because I will not back down. If you want to pretend that we're 'buddies', go right ahead. But I will not play along with your games."

          I finished off by crossing my arms and glaring at her, waiting for her answer. 

          Finally, her brown eyes hardened, and she commanded, "Gentlemen, will you leave us alone for a moment, please?"

          George and Oliver nodded, leaving to the kitchen, but not until I heard George ask, "Think they'll kill each other?" and Oliver reply, "Don't think so, but it would be worth the show to see."

          As soon as they left, Deborah moved close to me and hissed, "Listen to me, you little wench – George is mine, rightfully! You may love him, but I claim him as my own, so keep your grubby paws off my man!"

          "He's hardly yours until he says, 'I do', Debbie," I sneered deliberately. "So the play is vindicated. Sour grapes to you if you reckon you can't," I mimicked her, "_keep your man_ tied to you – tough bloody luck. The game is in play, and the match is set. The point is all that is needed to win."

          I then pointed to the door. "There's the door, and don't let it hit you on the way out. Don't come around here again, or I **will** call the police without a second's hesitance. Good day."

          She nodded stiffly, calling out as she began to leave the living room, "George, darling? We're leaving now."

          George and Oliver appeared, the latter seemingly disappointed that there wasn't a catfight, and the former relieved that we weren't hurt. 

          Nodding at his fiancée, George followed (like a puppy, I snorted) Deborah, pausing long enough to say goodbye to Oliver and to say, "see you later" to me. I smirked at Deborah when he wasn't looking.

          She fumed. 

          Like I said before, I was going to win this fight for George's love, but sooner or later, I would have to tell him. If he said he loved _Debbie dearest,_ then I would pack up and permanently move to Petit Perriou. If he said he loved me… well, that was an entirely different ballgame then. 

          I need consultation.

          Immediately. 

--//\\--

          "Mercedes, I don't know what to do!" I wailed. There was some static in the background of my long-distance call, but the money was worth it. Mercedes laughed. 

          "Strangle the little _puta_," she laughed. 

          "That wasn't funny," I frowned, trying to not laugh over the phone. I sat in a booth in the Hog's Head by myself, calling a privy day from the boys, and I was sipping a margarita because I damn well wanted to. And because my life seemed to live off of alcohol lately and chocolate. Chocolate was good.

          "Yes it was," giggled Mercedes. "Anyways," she continued, "She sounds horribly. Did you ask Fred what George saw in this little mirror reflection?"

          "Pardon?" I asked, frowning. Mirror reflection? What was she saying?

          "Did you speak to Fred—" she repeated slowly.

          "No, no," I waved my hand about, feeling stupid because I knew she couldn't see me, "What did you say after that?"

          "The mirror reflection part?"

          "Yes."

          "Oh, that."

          "Oh, that, what?"

          "Oh that, because you make her sound that she's you."

          "WHAT?" I gasped out, sputtering on my drink. "What to you mean, she's me? We are completely different, Mercedes. I can't believe you ever suggested that!"

          "The way you described her, _mi amiga_," soothed the Spaniards voice. "Brown hair, brown eyes, lithe figure… doesn't that sound remarkably like you, hmm?"

          "You mean… George…" I trailed off. Mercedes filled in the blanks for me.

          "George picked Deborah to be his wife because she reminded him of you… _mi dios,_ Hermione, this man is head over heels. I almost feel sorry for Deborah. She can't compete with you, since you've had George's love from the beginning."

          Two words swum through my brain when Mercedes finished speaking:

Oh my.

GLOSSARY:

Puta – whore

Mi amiga – my friend, feminine

Mi dios – my God

AN: Another chapter – Oooh… can't you just feel the tension? **grins** Leave a review and tell me what you think!


	6. Love VI

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, places, people living or dead. I am merely using them for entertainment purposes only. Plot based loosely on Sabrina._**

**_By: Kneazle_**

****

**A True Love Story**

**Chapter Six:**

          I arrived back at my parents' place before midnight, happily drunk and lightheaded. So many thoughts were running through my head: George, of course. 

          I got out of the cab, paying him a generous tip too, and stumbled out, grabbing onto the stone wall that surrounded my house. I giggled at my clumsiness, and sighed. 

          How on earth was I going to get George to notice me and dump Deborah? How, how, how?

          "Hermione?"

          I jumped and whirled on my three-inch pumps, crying out softly as they caught in the gravel and stumbled forward.

          Strong arms caught me and cradled me to their chest. I inhaled, and sighed dreamily. George was holding me up. 

          "Yes George?" I asked, my words not slurred – thank God I wasn't as far-gone as I had thought at first. 

          His hands clenched and unclenched, before he wrapped his hands around my small waist and lifted me from the ground. He swung me into his arms, shaking his head. 

          "Out drinking, have you?" he asked, glancing down at me. 

          I nodded. "Not much."

          "Sure."

          "George!" I laughed quietly, snickering. "You know me better than that! I don't drink that much without company!"

          At this, he stopped walking, glaring down at me. Instead of taking me to my front door, he spun on his heel and began to my backyard. 

          "George? George, where are we going?" I asked. 

          He didn't say anything until he deposited me on an ancient tire that we – Harry, Ron, George, Fred and myself – had hung on the old oak that grew in the backyard for generations. 

          "Stay here," he ordered, before moving to the base of the tree. There, he scaled it, going into a small hidden alcove that had been hollowed out by us when we were younger. There, he fished out a small fold up chair that my mother was going to throw out and threw it to the ground. 

          The metal made a _clang_ and made me winch. George jumped down out of the tree next, skillfully, and unfolded the chair when he stood. 

          He sat next to me (on the tire) and slowly began pushing it. 

          "Were you with Oliver?"

          "George!" I admonished. 

          He glanced at me from under his red fringe. "Were you with Oliver, Hermione? Drinking with him?"

          "No. The night before, yes."

          George stood suddenly, the chair flying backwards behind him. He stalked up to the tire, gripping the sides and trapping me in between his arms and the rubber. 

          "What happened the night before?" he asked in a dangerous voice. How could I say that I had my collaborators over to suggest how to tell George I loved him? I instead took some pieces of information out. 

          "Harry, Ron, Charlie, Oliver, and Fred were over. We were drinking a bit, that's all."

          "When did they all leave?" he continued in his dangerous voice.

          "Oh," I replied, frowning as I tried to remember. "I don't know. Oliver put me in my room before everyone left because I was falling asleep."

          His arms tightened on the tire, and I could see the strain of his muscles against the shirt he wore.

          "George? Is something wrong?" I questioned, laying a gentle hand on his arm. 

          He had me out of the tire faster than I thought, crushed against him. My hands were trapped between us, and his chin was resting on my head. 

          "Did Oliver leave? Why was he over this morning, Mione?" asked George, in such a voice I could only say that it was strained. 

          "He didn't leave, George. He was over this morning because he stayed the night." I said this quietly, wondering what George's thoughts were. Did he think me a hussy? A slut that would sleep with any guy that came around? I cringed at the thought and tried to hold the tears that were threatening to fall. Hmm… must be near that time of the month.

          "Did you…" he cleared his throat and began again. "D-Did you d-do anything… with… him?"

          Startled, I raised my head and looked him in the eyes. "George! Do you honestly think that I would –? That I'd –"

          I blinked back the tears that were now swimming in my gaze, and buried my head in his shoulder. I tugged my hands from between us and wrapped them around his waist instead. 

          "How could you think that? I'd never do something anything with someone I didn't care for!" I accidentally let that out, and was cringing when I felt George's hand lift my chin. 

          "What do you mean, not care for him? Aren't you two dating?" he asked, looking into my eyes. I shook my head. 

          "Your mother believed that because she wanted to. We never said anything. He was my date, that's all," I replied honestly and quietly. 

          My breath floated up around the two of us in the cold night air, disappearing as soon as it appeared. I shivered, wanting to be inside. 

          Closing his eyes, George tilted his head back and his features softened. Relief poured from him, and I began to think that there was something he wasn't telling me, just like I wasn't telling him. 

          "Let's go inside," I suggested, taking his hand and tugging on it lightly. We walked towards the back kitchen door, with me standing on tiptoe to retrieve the spare key hidden on the top ledge of the door molding. 

          George's hand went over my own sensually as he took the key and my hand down from the ledge. I glanced up at him, wonder in my eyes, but he only took the key out of my hand and inserted it into the lock, turning. 

          We entered the warm kitchen, both shedding our jackets and boots as I motioned for him to follow me into the conservatory. 

          In there, he sat in one of the whicker chairs surrounded by my mother's tropical flowers. The heat was unbearable, but I managed to ignore it as I sat cross-legged on one of the pot's ledges.  

          "What's wrong, George? Why were you so afraid that I had done something with Ollie?" I asked softly, watching him. 

          He sat forward, his elbows resting on his jean-clad legs. His blue Weasley jumper was loose and dark, complementing his flame coloured hair wonderfully. I took my fill of him, his dark sapphire eyes on mine. 

          "I didn't want you to make a mistake, Hermione," his voice came out as a whisper. 

          "You know I wouldn't do anything I wasn't sure of," I replied to him, tilting my head sideways. "There's more."

          "Yes," he agreed, his eyes locked on mine. Silence ensured, and finally, after what seemed like hours, he stood and strode towards me with purpose. 

          "George?" I questioned, standing up to meet him. Before I could say anything else, his hands cupped my face and his lips descended upon mine.   
          I could hardly believe that he was kissing me again. This time, though, something was different. There was urgency in the kiss that there had never been; something feral and animalistic instead of slow and gentle. 

          George pulled back before brushing his lips slowly across mine, letting a sigh escape. "I was jealous," he whispered. 

          "Of what?" I asked, my mouth moving against his as I spoke. 

          "That you were with Oliver, Hermione. I didn't want him to use you like he used all his other girlfriends. I didn't want you to be hurt," he explained, pulling me to him in a hug, before he began kissing my neck. "I was so scared that he would do something to you – and this morning… when he called to say that Deborah was here, and there he was in that rumpled shirt and looking disheveled…"

          He groaned, biting my earlobe. "I thought you gave yourself to him. I nearly died when I saw him there."

          "Why?" I breathed, tilting my head to the side. 

          "Because I wanted to be him, the one looking like I had spent the night in your arms, kissing, caressing you. Not him. Not him_ ever_."

          I pulled back, surprised by the passion in his voice. I searched his eyes, wondering if that was true. 

          "Really?" I asked. 

          "Really," he replied with a small, crooked smile. 

          "But…" I sputtered, "What about Deborah? You're going to be married in a week!"

          George closed his eyes, pain etched onto his face. He buried his head against my shoulder, and groaned. "I don't _know_. I don't know, Mione. I've loved you since forever and I don't want to lose you again."

          My heart soared; he _loved_ me! _He_ loved me! He loved _me_! All this time, waiting for him, it wasn't in vain. Then, my heart crashed back to reality. Deborah. 

          "Oh George," I sobbed, trying very hard not to cry, but the tears fell. "I love you too – but you're still going to get married. What about Deborah? She cares for you!"  
          "But I don't care for her!" he replied hotly, his head lifting from my shoulder, his sapphire eyes ablaze with fury, passion, love, and gloom. "I love you! Not her! God, Hermione – I've been waiting and dreaming of this moment for ages, and here you are saying that I can't have you!"  
          "I'm not saying that," I replied quietly, trying to keep my voice down, lest my parents heard. "I want you, badly, George, but is it fair to Deborah to be stood up? Shouldn't you tell her?"

          "I will," he said darkly, his eyes shifting away from mine. 

          I sighed. "No, you won't. You'd leave it up to someone else to tell her, or that she'd find out on her own. Oh George… I've been waiting for years. Years and years and years to hear you say those three words… but maybe it isn't right."

          What? What was I saying? Were those words really coming out of my mouth? Good God, it must have been the alcohol talking. 

          In all actuality, it was reality. 

          George looked back at me, his eyes dark and full with confusion. "Why can't we be together? After being apart for so long?"

          I didn't know. I had no answer. Instead, he kissed me again, this time so full of longing and need that I couldn't refuse him. 

          Soon we were on the floor, kissing, caressing, and soon I didn't feel anything other that him. George Weasley. 

--//\\--

          A bird chirped and someone's car started. My eyes felt heavy and lidded – I couldn't open them. I tried to roll over to see the time, but couldn't. I was so sore, and something draped across my stomach had been snuggled close to them. 

          Oliver? No, I realized with growing horror, George. 

          I closed my eyes, swallowing painfully. A quick lift of the bedcovers solved my suspicion. In bed, with George Weasley, the man I love, naked, and extremely sore. Although I had a quick taste of heaven, I was now in hell. 

          He had cheated on Deborah with me. He cheated on his fiancée with _me_. Oh God, I felt like I was going to die of shame. 

          Tears leaked silently down my cheeks, and I tried to stop them. I kept my eyes tightly closed, trying to ignore the male presence beside me. 

          Lips brushed the tears away, gently, and a comforting arm pulled me close to them. I opened my eyes to see George looking down at me with concern and worry. 

          "Are you… do you regret what we did last night?" he asked, stroking a way-ward piece of hair behind my ear. With my chin resting on his chest, I glanced down and shook my head. How could I ever regret that my first time had been with someone I loved? Someone who was going to marry another? The tears started again. 

          "What's the matter, Mione?" he asked, as his hand ran from my hair down to the small of my back. "What's wrong?"

          "You're still getting married. That's what's wrong. I slept with a soon-to-be-married man! I helped you cheat on your fiancée!" I wailed out, burying my face in his chest as understanding dawned on his face. 

          He sat up, pulling me with him. Holding me close, he whispered harshly, "No. Don't think or even say that! I don't _have_ a fiancée, not after today. You didn't sleep with a man that is going to be married, Hermione. You're pure and sweet and innocent, and certainly not a seducer."

          I didn't lift my head, not even as his lips kissed away my tears, and hopefully kissing away my worries. I couldn't do this, I suddenly realized. 

          As I glanced at the clock, I noticed the time. "It's nearly nine… you should be going home. They'll begin to wonder where you are," I said quietly. 

          George, taking the hint, nodded, slowly and sliding out of bed began looking for his clothes. I helped him with the chore, the bed sheet wrapped tightly around me as I did so. 

          Finally, when he was dressed, he pulled me towards him once before, kissing me tenderly. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

          I nodded, still not looking at him, and waited until the front door closed. Then, I reached for my cell phone. 

          "Mercedes?" I sobbed. "Can you do my a favour please? Can you send me a ticket so I can come home?"

--//\\--

          "Are you sure you have to go, Mione?" asked Harry, as he stepped back from a very tight hug. I smiled, a little wobbly, but nodded. 

          "I'm afraid so."

          "Even though George said he loved you? You're forgoing your conquest?" he continued, his emerald eyes searching mine. 

          "Yes," I sighed. "I was doing something wrong. I never thought that we'd… that anything would have…" I broke off. 

          Ron came forward and hugged me again. "God, you're a wreck."

          I laughed weakly. "Thanks Weasley, that made me feel a lot better."

          Oliver stood off to the side, watching with his hands in his pockets. He smiled softly at me before stepping close and wrapping me in his arms. 

          "I don't know how he'll take this, love. Second time you've done this to him," he said softly, his chin on my hair and his hands stroking my back, calming me. 

          "He'll have you and the others to explain. You know I'm so righteous. I still can't believe what I did," I gave a dry sob. Stepping back, I forced a smile on my face and said louder than I meant, "If you guys are ever in France, here's my address." I handed Ron a folded piece of paper. "You will visit, won't you?"

          "Of course!" chirped Harry, grinning from ear to ear, but it flickered. 

          **_"Train 489 from King's Cross to Lyon is now boarding. Train 489 from King's Cross to Lyon is now boarding."_**

          I blinked away new tears and gave the three most important men in my life one last hug.

          "See you guys around," I whispered, before jumping aboard the train that would take me back home to Petite Perriou. 

          After twenty minutes, the train's doors closed, the conductor collected our tickets, and we began to move. I waved goodbye to Harry, Ron and Oliver, smiling and blowing kisses. 

          Some things weren't meant to be, I realized. Even though George would forever be in my heart, I couldn't stand to witness Deborah's broken heart when George told her that he slept with me and therefore he wasn't going to marry her. 

          No, I was going to take that to my grave – and so were Mercedes, Oliver, Harry and Ron – and I would never again hope to see him. My chapter with George Weasley was over, and a new one would begin soon. 

          I hope.

--//\\--

          The train pulled into the station at Lyon promptly on time, and I jumped off with my duffle bag slung across my shoulder. I glanced around, wondering where Mercedes was. She did say she was going to be here, but where was she?

          I walked around the platform for a while, looking around for my Spanish beauty of a friend, swearing under my breath in French. 

          Finally, the crowd parted as I reached the exit, revealing the most unlikely person I was going to see. 

          George stood between the two doors, holding a red rose in his hand, twirling it around in nervousment. 

          I stepped close to him, my mouth agape. How did he get here?

          Spotting me, he gave me his special crooked grin and strode towards me – our eyes were locked on each other and people walked by with knowing smirks and warm eyes. 

          "How? When did you get here?" I asked, taking him in. Dressed in dress pants, a gray cashmere sweater and slick black jacket, George ran his free hand through his hair. 

          "Did you know that a plane is much faster than a train?" he said sheepishly. He grinned, handing me the thorn-less flower. "Why did you leave again, love?"

          I took the flower and looked at it. "I was afraid. Afraid that you would just break your wedding off with Deborah because you slept with a virgin. Because you would feel obligated."

          George clucked his tongue at me, like his mother, and drew me close. "You silly girl you. How could you ever think that? I said I love you. Didn't you believe?"

          "I waited ten years for you to say those words, George, I thought I was just hearing them – making them up," I sighed. 

          Kissing me lightly, George knelt a bit to my height and admonished, "You're crazy, Mione, and I love you. Past, present and future. Always. Forever. Do you believe me now?"

          "Yes," I breathed. He kissed me, the kiss the same as the one before – filled with love and need and urgency and want. 

          Pulling back, I questioned, "Where's Mercedes?" 

          George shrugged and gave a dashing smile. "I sent her off when I introduced myself. Actually, she called and told me who she was and where to find her. It seems like you have some explaining to do. What's this I hear about a plan that had my brothers in on your love life?"

          I blushed crimson. "You weren't supposed to find out about that," I muttered. 

          George grinned and took my arm. Together, we strolled out of the train station, and down a couple streets to a small café. Entering, we ordered something warm to drink, and settled down for a nice long talk.

          A long talk that was the first of many.

_AN:_ Although it was a quick ending, I didn't think that having Hermione and Deborah have a typical bad-girl-good-girl meeting (A.K.A., _She's All That_), and although it would have been interesting to work on the angle where Hermione announces in front of everyone that George shouldn't marry Deborah (_Bridget Jones's Diary_), I realized that it wouldn't be in character. Okay, so the story was an AU, but I still wanted Hermione to be a bit insecure, no matter how much she changed. Deep down, she was still that insecure, frizzball that worried that George wouldn't love her for _her_. Not because he wanted to, was obliged, or because he felt sorry, but because of her. 

          The ending is a bit of a cliffhanger, but make no mistake that everything works out. There won't be a sequel, and there won't be a Deborah/Hermione catfight, even if it would have been nice to have. 

                Thanks to: **Gliniel de Silva Malfoy+Wood**, **Jade**, **KT**, **kdalemama**, **Tinuviel** **Henneth**, **Macy, Tracy 16, and Rory 14** (PS, Tracy, like your name – it's the same as mine!), **merry_mary**, **Jessika Organa Solo**, **Cedric Finnegan**, **Alexandra**, **Rhiana Larsen**, my dear friend **Skeyeta**, **Gwendellen** **Snape**, **Angelgirl1**, **evelyn**, **Sunshine Stargirl**, **Jerica**, **Roxie Potter**, **b**, **jaxi**, **SleepieCareBear**, **Alice**, **Sith**, **Jamie**, **Xtreme Nuisance**, **Sayo**, **Whotookthatname**, **Shaye**, **cat**, **Majestyic**, **hudson**, **IceDragon**, **DazedPanda**, **Young Golden Unicorn**, **Shenaux**, **Strawberri**, **asdfsadf** (you took math lately, haven't you?), **Gwen Potter**, **Oliver**, **lady knight of kennan**, **i-SeLL-YeLLoW-sNoW **(interesting name, doll – where did you get that from?), **Lawwwren**, and the one chapter **Stoneheart** (I don't blame you for not reading the whole thing – H/Hr all the way!); and to everyone else who read but didn't review. Thank you all! ~ Kneazle (June 8, 2003)


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